I get back into my car, oddly shaken, and I watch Liam walk away through the big sliding glass doors.

Just before he does, he turns and waves. I wave back.

Instantly, the guilt of what I’m about to do hits me like a ton of bricks. I wonder for the thousandth time if he’s not right, if I should just go along with what he thinks should happen because after all it’s his life, his band.

But I can’t just let him go this alone. He’s done that too much, convinced himself that he doesn’t deserve sympathy or help from anyone.

And maybe he doesn’t deserve it. I don’t know. I’m not fit to judge that, but I know life doesn’t work strictly by who deserves what.

When I can’t see Liam any more, I start my engine. I drive out of LAX, but instead of going back to my place, I head to Darcy’s.

* * *

“All right, what did he do?” Gavin asks the second he steps through the door.

My stomach clenches, but Darcy rolls her eyes.

“Hi, welcome, good morning,” she says. “Coffee? Donut?”

Gavin grabs a donut, leaning his elbows on Darcy’s countertop, and bites into it. I brought them as a gesture of goodwill, because I’m exploding with nerves and not even sure I’m doing the right thing.

“Come on,” he says around a mouthful. “She’s here without Liam, and we all know Liam, so he’s clearly done something.”

“Still not a reason not to say hello first,” Darcy says.

“Maybe she’s here to plan his surprise party,” Trent rumbles.

“His birthday isn’t for months,” Gavin points out.

“Who says it’s for his birthday?”

“He’s right,” I finally say, the words bursting out of my mouth.

The three of them just sigh, and I blink in surprise. It wasn’t quite the reaction I was expecting.

“Just tell me my house is still standing,” Trent says.

“You’d have got a call from the police if anything had happened there,” Gavin says. “Ask me how I know.”

“It’s not like that,” I say. “He’s fine now, he’s been fine, but he’s on a plane to England because he punched my ex-fiancé and he might not make the show next Friday and he didn’t want me to tell you any of this, because he thinks you’ll hate him for screwing up again.”

Dead silence. Trent folds his arms in front of him. Darcy takes a sip of coffee. Gavin drums his fingers on the table, all three of them looking at me.

“He, um,” I say.

I rehearsed all the way over here. On breaks at work I scribbled down talking points, because I really was nervous about coming here and telling these famous people all about this, but they seem to be taking it well. Really well.

“Is that all?” Gavin finally asks.

“You’re saying no one’s dead, right?” says Trent.

“Or maimed?”

“Or hurt?”

“I mean, he did punch my ex, but I think Alistair is fine—”

“Sometimes people need to be punched,” Gavin says.

“Oh, my God,” Darcy mutters, closing her eyes.

“They do,” Gavin insists. “I’m not saying violence is necessarily good, but every so often, you find someone who really does need—”

“You’re not even what we’re talking about,” Darcy says.

I stay quiet, because I’m not exactly sure what I’ve stumbled into, but I’m pretty sure it’s not about Liam.

“Why don’t we go sit down and Frankie can tell us the whole story instead of us arguing about whether some people need to be punched?” Trent rumbles.

“They do,” Gavin says, grabbing another donut.

“Alistair did,” I mutter, and Gavin looks over at me, behind Darcy and Trent, and grins.

I sit on a couch, coffee in my hands, and take a deep breath. I try to recall those index cards I wrote notes to myself on, but they’ve all completely disappeared from my memory, and suddenly I don’t know where to begin.

“I met Liam in England a couple of months ago when I was visiting with my ex-fiancé,” I start, and then trail off because that doesn’t seem quite right either. They’re all just watching, listening, and suddenly I realize that they probably know him better than me, that maybe I should start with the Liam they know, work forwards.

I sigh.

“That’s not true,” I say. “A year ago I stopped Liam from jumping in front of a train dead drunk at two o’clock in the morning and he called me an American slag before disappearing into some bushes.”

They don’t look surprised at all.

* * *

It feels like I talk forever, but it’s not actually that long, and they seem interested. I tell them about Shelton, the pub he worked in, the cottage where he lived. Hands over my eyes, I tell them that I went on a two-day bender with an ex-junkie and after I left, he kept getting shitfaced, drove through town, hit a wall, and tried to assault my ex.

And I tell them that now my ex is suing him for a hundred thousand pounds and that he had to go back to England to face the charges and that there’s a good chance he might not make it back in time for the show.

Finally, I go quiet. I’m not sure what else to say, and suddenly, I’m not sure what I’m even here for. To tell them they should have a backup plan, I guess?

But that’s not it. That’s some, but it’s not all.

I’m here because I’m afraid for him. I’m afraid that Liam’s alone, that I’m not enough for him. He’s spent years systematically alienating people from his life, and now he’s afraid to try again.

“We can get another drummer if we need to,” Trent finally says. “I think Eddie’s in town.”

“Fuck Eddie, he left us,” Darcy says.

“He still knows our songs,” Trent says. He’s got Darcy’s cat in his lap, petting her distractedly as she practically loses her mind.

“He left us for Stingraze,” she goes on, and looks at me. “Have you even heard of them? They’re a jam band, and they’re shitty, and they play festivals that are just weekend-long excuses to do drugs and they’re terrible.”

“The point being, it’s not a problem to find another drummer,” Trent says.

“There’s about a thousand drummers in Los Angeles we could ask,” Gavin says. “We just wanted it to be Liam.”

There’s another long pause.

“How sober is he, really?” Gavin asks.

“Alistair sent him a bottle of vodka and he dumped it down the drain,” I offer.

“He was drinking club soda at your wedding,” Darcy volunteers. “I sneaked a couple sips to see if there was vodka or something, and there never was.”

“If he’s not drinking on the sly it’s the longest he’s been sober since we graduated high school,” Gavin says. “And with Liam there’s no such thing as drinking on the sly, believe me. Or doing anything on the sly, really.”

“He did almost fly back to England without us knowing,” Trent points out.

“Perhaps he’s learned about sobriety and sneaking,” Gavin says. “Look at him, all grown up.”

Darcy just snorts. Her cat jumps off Trent’s lap, yawns, stretches, walks over to Gavin and looks up at him expectantly.

“What?” he says. “I’m not picking you up, you’ve got to jump, you lazy beast.”

“Trent spoils her,” Darcy says.

“I do not.”

“I caught you getting out of bed to give her treats because she did something cute,” Darcy says, laughing. “This cat has you tied around her pinkie... toe.”

Trent just shrugs. The cat jumps onto Gavin’s lap, shoves her head into his hand, and suddenly they seem to remember that I’m still there, sitting on the edge of the couch, coffee cup in both hands.

“We can find another drummer, it’s really not a big problem,” Gavin says. “I do wish he hadn’t punched someone, but when you asked if we could meet at Darcy’s house I thought you were going to tell us that you’d caught him shooting up again or something.”

“Really, it’s kind of good news that something bad happened and he’s actually dealing with it,” Darcy says.

“I can’t believe you guys still like him,” I say, and then a second later realize I said it out loud.

They’re already laughing, though, even Trent who tends to be kind of quiet.

“Neither can we,” Darcy says.